Bullet with Butterfly Wings
by Lilys Eyes
Summary: Anita encounters one of the Jets again many years later.


Dabbing at her face with a delicate silk handkerchief, Anita firmly locked the door behind her. The little shop would have been barely recognizable to those who only knew it as "Madame Lucia´s Bridal Shop." It was still cramped and too hot in summer, despite the long since installed air conditioning, but now it was a trendy little secret among the young, fashionable brides- to- be, called simply "Anita`s".

Extravagant, colorful creations now mingled with the traditional white in its small window. And Anita had had to fight tooth and nail for every single drop of color with the venerable Madame. Even though years had passed since then, she would look at that window every evening after closing, just to remind herself of how far she had come.

Her heels click-clacking leisurely along the sidewalk, Anita was mentally home already, back with Felipe and little Valentina. Looking forward to hugging that beautiful little whirlwind that was her daughter, and having a nice, quiet dinner with her husband. The sound of someone shouting behind her, intruded jarringly into her pleasant thoughts.

A small frown on her face, Anita turned around. A protest march! There were so many of them these days. Although the sight and sound of throngs of people marching and shouting would always put her on edge, Anita was grateful for them. Grateful that they at least tried to do something, tried to stop this terrible war. No matter whether you thought it a just war or not, so many had already died, so many had lost sons, fathers, brothers.

Subconsciously clutching her purse to her chest, Anita stood and watched them pass. Young people in colorful clothing, some with flowers painted onto their faces, but also many she would have a long time ago derided as Squares. Middle-aged men and women with stony, frightened faces, those who remembered another, even more terrible war, that had set the entire world on fire, those whose sons now had to fight and die for their country.

Her gaze fell on a man in a wheelchair, his powerful, heavily tattooed arms energetically propelling him onward. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail, his cheeks covered by a thick, black beard and to his ratty denim vest, the Purple Heart was pinned. And yet all Anita saw, was a stocky boy with a Greaser´s pompadour, sneering in her face.

This man was one of _them!_ Anita could feel her hands begin to tremble. He was the one who had started it all! Nausea began to rise in her throat. How she´d hated those boys for what they´d done to her. The fear, the nightmares, the feeling that they had sullied her forever with their touch. And worst of all, the doubt whether she couldn´t have done something differently. Whether she couldn´t somehow have stopped them.

How many years had she wished she could make them pay for what they´d done. To her, to Maria, to Bernardo. Anita bit down hard on her cheek, she would turn around now and she would go home. Home to the two people she loved most in the world and forget about this man, just like he had undoubtedly forgotten about her.

But it was too late. He had spotted her. And he had recognized her. She could see his face become completely expressionless, his hands on the wheels growing slack. Anita wanted to run, wanted to spit right in his face.

Yet she stood frozen to the spot as the man turned and began to slowly roll towards her. The sea of still shouting and chanting faces parted around him and moved on down the street, until there was only the two of them left. Only the two of them and complete silence. Anita squared her shoulders and held her head high, refusing to look him in the eye. Never again would she let this man see her afraid. She heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

"I…I ain`t gonna ask ya to forgive me for what we did to ya," he began. His voice was low and brittle.

"Hah! You´d better not! You´d _better_ not!" Anita spat, she wanted to infuse her words with this insane rage she felt, but it took all of her strength just to keep her voice from shaking.

"Yeah, I ain`t earned that right," he agreed softly."I jus´ …wantcha to know that I´m sorry, more sorry than I can ever say. I…I wantcha to know that… there ain´t been a single day where I ain´t been ashamed of what I done."

Anita crossed her arms and forced her lips into a bitter smile.

"Good."

And now she did look him in the eye. She wanted him to know she wouldn`t forgive him, no matter if he wanted her to or not. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Not even if he crawled out of that chair and begged her on his knees.

The man`s head seemed to droop under the weight of her withering stare. With hands that trembled just like hers, he reached to unclasp a heavy silver chain around his neck. A small, shapeless something was attached to it.

"This is the bullet they dug out of my spine," he said, holding it out to her.

"I wantcha to have it…please. It was stronger than me…jus` like ya."

And how Anita hated him then. How she hated that brittle voice and the tears in his eyes and those withered legs that would never walk again. How she hated this man for replacing that sneering boy that she now couldn´t hate anymore.

Her teeth chattering with the effort it took her not to sob, Anita stiffly extended her hand, letting him place the chain in her palm. And then, before she could stop herself, she slapped him across the face. A slap fed by all of the rage and humiliation and grief she had carried with her all those years. He merely nodded in acceptance, tears rolling down his cheeks.

And then Anita wouldn´t fight her tears anymore. Her hand clasped tightly around the man´s hand, clasped tightly around the bullet that had made him pay, she knelt down beside him and wept with him.


End file.
